


it will come back

by dealusis



Series: New Vegas OC 'Verse [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: interrogation ... but sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dealusis/pseuds/dealusis
Summary: This is a little story I wrote because I wanted to write my OC Louis so bad but also Francis still has so much more story to be told - this takes place maybe two years before the start of New Vegas, Francis is working for House under a tight leash and an illicit investigation leads him to a junk shop marked only by the golden sun.





	it will come back

**Author's Note:**

> This features two Original Fallout Characters - more information about them is available at dealusis.tumblr.com under their OC tags and on their profiles.

Francis digs his boot into his targets wrist, crushing slowly until he feels the man underneath him squirm as his bones and ligaments grind harshly into the wood below. He speaks, a simple question: “What do you know about the disappearances?”

Over the past few weeks, Francis had caught wind of more and more missing folks. All unconnected except for a single commonality - the appearance of a rogue Legion assassin roaming the desert just around the same time Francis got the first poster handed to him by his contact. House said it was a reach, and that he should cease his prying immediately. But Francis ain’t stupid - or someone who “reaches”. 

Still, he was ordered to not pursue the case. 

The man underneath him laughs, a cruel sound that echoes in the large room. “Did your master send you?” he says in a soft, patronizing voice. He laughs again - strained as Francis pulls tighter at his dark hair, yanking his head back and bearing his throat underneath his high collar. The man gasps. “Does your daddy know where you are?” he whispers, his lips parting as he breathes in roughly and looks at him through dark lashes.

“House doesn’t know I’m here.” Francis says carefully. _And he won’t find out_ , goes heard but not said.

The man smiles, revealing straight, white teeth. “Ah ah ah - what would he say, knowing his little pet has strayed outside his fencing?” A drop of sweat beads down the man’s tan face and his leg shifts against Francis’ hip nervously.

Louis Lafontaine, known simply as the “Sun King” in most circles, is a hard man to get ahold of. While he runs a junk shop, an Oddity Shop in polite company, during the day, he all but disappears during closing hours, many of Francis’ usual contacts being tight lipped about his nocturnal activities.

Francis has heard chatter about Lafontaine from the Van Graffs, who suspected that their periodically stolen goods were being fenced in his shop. Similar complaints came from many other dealers across Vegas, as well as a rumor that Lafontaine would harbor criminals for a favor, which is why he’s here now, looking for a killer.

The man struggling against the wood didn’t look like someone who could overpower the muscle the Van Graffs hired, let alone someone who could even carry their high powered energy weapons. He was slim, almost unhealthily so, and remained surprisingly unmarred despite what could be years in the dangerous business of getting on the bad side of a big caravans. He was skilled in close combat, that much was true, but not skilled enough to overpower Francis, not skilled enough to kill or abduct someone so cleanly and without a trace. He must have allies who can, Francis thinks.

Francis can’t help but dig deeper in that train of thought, what better place to deal in the black market than a place like this? The spacious room was filled top to bottom with taxidermy animals, polished bone, and old pre war furniture, lit by lanterns placed sporadically around the room. Easy to hide a body. Easy to hide the guns.

Lafontaine let out a shaky breath and licks his lips, “I don’t know anything about the ‘disappearances’ as you say. I deal in junk. That’s all,” He nodded towards a precarious stack of animal skulls piled on a shelf. “The only thing I am contracting the death of is animals - or is that a crime now, Bishop?” Lafontaine looks at him with challenge, the lantern behind Francis casting a golden light across his narrow face.

Francis let out a hum and let his hand leave the tangle of Lafontaine’s long hair, stroking down his defined jaw, softly feeling over raised moles, and finally, to a place at his throat. He rests his hand just along the other man’s pulse and Adams apple. “I didn’t say anything about contracted death,” He says, and feels Lafontaine’s heartbeat pick up beneath his fingers. “Only disappearances.” 

He lets’ his eyes burn into Lafontaine’s, as if trying to pull the truth from him. He knew from the start this wouldn’t be easy, from the moment he received the tip that Lafontaine was in his shop today.

A strangled noise comes from the man as Francis presses his thumb down over the ridges of his throat. Lafontaine’s left hand comes up and grabs at his wrist. “W-well, it’s not unknown that… that would be something House would be worried about, I have friends in many places you know. I’ve heard rumors that you may be a bother about it - to me,” He drums his fingers over the soft skin of Francis’ wrist in a considering manner and looks up at him, a line appearing between his strong eyebrows.

Francis nods for him to continue, and Lafontaine opens his mouth as if to speak, but shuts it abruptly, his fingers ceasing their movement and squeezing hard. A sly grin makes its way across his face.

Francis can see the moment Lafontaine realizes he has a way out, a shiny, triumphant gleam glazes his eyes as they bore into his own. 

“Have you ever thought that House might be keeping something from you? Much can be said under the influence after all,” Lafontaine says softly. “Especially in the throes of passion,” his pretty features twist into a scowl as he bears his teeth in a mock grin. “Who knows what you might say while you’re getting _fucked_.” he spits out.

Francis brings him close to his face with a jerk, hand gripping his neck tightly. “I’d watch what you say when I have my hand wrapped around your throat.” Lafontaine laughs loudly, letting go of his wrist and slapping the floor with his hand, “You’re no killer Bishop. You’re kidding yourself if you think you could kill me in good conscience.”

Lafontaine hangs himself limply in his grasp, held up only by the hand around his neck, his nearly black hair hanging behind him in a thick curtain, melting into the dark wood below. “But by all means, kill me if you think it’ll make you feel better about disobeying House - about being betrayed.”

Francis thinks it over. Not a killer, no, but he has killed before. Many people have died in his grasp. Many have died by his hands - his hand, the one wrapped around Lafontaine’s thin neck. He could kill him. Strangle him. Leave him to be eaten by the rats in his own walls. But what would be the justice in that? Did God not condemn killing, out of vengeance, no less? Francis has never been the most pious, but this he understood.

He let Lafontaine drop to the ground and stands up from his kneeling position. “If I hear your name again, I will kill you. Or I will _send_ someone to kill you. Do you understand?” Lafontaine scrambles up and leans on his left hand, cradling his bruised right to his chest. He nods frantically. Francis turns away from him to make his way through the maze of junk. “I have no reason to kill you now. Don’t give me one.” he says lightly, letting his voice amplify through the high beamed ceilings. 

Lafontaine lets out one of his little laughs, a cat got the cream sort of laugh, one that follows him as shuts the heavy wood door behind him. It rings in his ears as he walks home, the red Nevada sun setting over the empty desert behind him.


End file.
